as she fell
by narqueen
Summary: She was precious to him. After all, she is the Gem. Implied Raven/Slade. Set during Birthmark. One-shot.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Titans.**

**a/n: So I was thinking about my FF _The Now_, and just wanted to throw out a quick one-shot of my favorite part of the whole TT series: the Birthmark rooftop scene. This can be seen as an accompaniment piece to _Now_, but it can be a stand-alone too. Take your pick.**

**Now, I've seen a lot of fics like this one, most of them involving rape or something nasty and out of canon. Personally, I'm not a big fan of that, _especially_ since any perverted moments with Slade were _subtle_ (i.e. the_ 'fringe benefits' _he was talking about in The End, Part II; all the weird BDSM overtones in Aftershock). Still, his character isn't a rapist.**

**Plus, this episode was the one where I started shipping Slaven hardcore (I was in really young, BTW. Deep dark secret for me at the time) I've always felt that Slade held Raven just a little too long before he dropped Raven off the tower - whether or not that was just a part of the animation, it always gave me the impression he was thinking about something, or he pitied her. And if you watch the episode closely, when he's holding Raven over her vision of the End, she shakes (her outline, her eyes), which I think is very profound of her character.**

**Anyway, this is just a Slade centered/point of view story that stays in canon.  
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**Also, I don't know much about Wintergreen, but from what I've gathered, he's a decent man. Sorry if the descriptions of him are OOC.**

**Reviews, sharing, etc. are always greatly appreciated.**

_What you have concealed you shall become._

Slade hadn't meant to rip her cloak, to expose her like that. In life, he was a criminal mastermind, dead set on destroying the Teen Titans. In death, he was the fire-wielding servant of an inter-dimensional demon, still dead set on destroying the Teen Titans. But he wasn't a pervert.

Dead set. Ha, ha. Slade had a dead set of hands, a dead set of feet, a dead set of ears.

He would say 'a dead set of eyes', except, well, he couldn't. A set implied two things to make a whole.

He couldn't have that, not even post-mortem.

_You have no other choice._

On the ground, she's like an insect, a pile of pale flesh and bone that would very shortly disintegrate into nothing. Important as she was, impressed as he was, in the long run, she was nothing.

But to him, she meant everything.

She's angry now, leaping up and running for him. How silly of her to think she stood a chance.

Fluidly, he caught her wrist, feeling the spark of her dark energy reverberate through his armor. Somehow, his bones had retained all his human nerves, even if every sensation was brief and never hindering. Her powers stung his hands, but it was thrilling, refreshing, so close to the pain of being alive.

Her wrist was so small, a fragile vessel for her powers. Slade could have easily broken bones, if that was what he wished.

Strangely enough, it wasn't.

_The message will be delivered. Your destiny will be fulfilled._

Suddenly, she was overtaken by the mark of Scath, and the inscriptions are burning through her clothing like tissue paper. The world is melting behind them, and Slade narrowed his gaze, his darker intentions telling him to hold her tighter, make her indecent, hurt her in a different way -

Unwilling to do so, he tossed her the second the inscriptions were in place. Thank God for small miracles: she'd been left with an undergarment version of her leotard. Heaven knew Slade would have been at an utter loss if she'd been naked. He was a mercenary, now the servant of a demon, but hey, he still had some moral standards.

'Some' being the operative word.

She's wincing, clutching herself, the inscriptions still fresh and red against her flesh. The tiniest twitch of spite wretched through Slade - he, too, had suffered in flame. Didn't feel too pleasant, did it?

"No!"

The spite hisses, laughs.

_Yes._

She whirled toward him, stunned by the vision of their future. Her hair is long and matted, eyes wide and frightened. God, it's so nice to see a Titan tremble.

_Look at it. Drink it in._

Encouraged by her misery, Slade surveys what the future looks like. Charred buildings, a blood red sky, shadows crawling the streets. In the distance, he could make out the stony visages of the Titans.

The scene is an amusing one.

_Behold the world you are destined to create._

And his master rose from the molten rock, bellowing in his victory. Privately, Slade hoped Trigon would not be doing that too often when the End did come.

"No!"

She was holding her head, shaking violently, the picture of denial.

"I won't do it! This is just a vision, this can't be real!"

Her legs were slumping. She was going to fall off the damn tower and plummet to her death. And Slade couldn't have that. It would be embarrassing.

So he reached for her, griping her tiny shoulders and pulling her closer, pulling her a little off the edge and away from danger. Her life was precious to him - it meant he was going to get his blood back. She was his salvation.

_This is the future. Your future._

Precious. Like the Gem she was.

_It began the day you were born. And nothing. Can. Stop. It._

Ha, ha.

_This will come to pass. I will make sure of it._

He would. Slade was going to live. He didn't care about much else.

The girl in his arm sobs, once. It's a strange, quiet sound, barely more than a hitched breath.

But it's a sob all the same, and somehow, an old part of him regrets making her upset.

No. Slade was a monster. He was a walking skeleton - nothing was left of that ignorant, human solider he'd once been. The one who married Adeline. The one who was a father. The one who was good.

Back to the topic at hand.

_You're going to destroy the world, Raven. It's written all over your face._

His words had the effect he was hoping for; she was screaming, her powers ripping through the vision and the frozen time. The air moved again, cold with nighttime. Cars were honking, people were moving.

And they were above them all.

She's sagging in his hands now, limp and weak and defeated. Slade waited for the satisfaction to come.

It doesn't.

If Wintergreen ever found out about this, Slade was sure the man wouldn't speak to him for a year. As compliant his servant was when it came to matters of crime, Wintergreen never approved of unnecessary violence, unnecessary aggression. And Slade had just defiled a woman - nay, a girl - all in the name of vengeance.

The solider within him was ashamed.

God, she was tiny. The burns were beginning to fade, and all Slade could do was hold her and contemplate what had just transpired. Absentmindedly, he wondered why the girl hadn't grown out her hair before. It looked far better than that short, edgy cut she maintained.

In fact, she wasn't bad looking at all. How old was Joseph? They were about the same age. In a different world, in a different life, would Joseph be dating a girl like her?

The sound of a bird-a-rang unfurling captured Slade's attention. Robin was coming to save his friend. Cute.

It would be safe to drop her, then. Again, the man he once was spluttered in protest, but the Slade he knew himself to be was returning.

_We'll be in touch._

He let her go, feeling her body slide beneath his fingers, falling.

The ends of her long, long hair brushed his fingertips as she fell.

_Oh, and happy birthday._


End file.
